PITH

SEED

ORIGIN

Speak! To the din of angels, rejoice the callousness of gods and men.

Tell me: have you been bled dry already? Airy youth of the hill, we are storming the castle,

grief as stones and twice as light.

Water is the cradle and the grave, and all things must flow in time to a heartbeat.

That is why I spend so long by the sea,

hoping to hear my mothers in the breaking of

waves on the crag

how will you sing when that time comes?

yes.

We are all runners of the moon’s white shadow. Eventually the night will eclipse us all in a golden glow. Better live fiercely.

The afterlife? Ha! How laughable. When the waxy curtains fall on your final scene, it is unknown to you alone. There is nothing brighter in this world than your eye - ethereal, divine, the penultimate judge imposed by nothing but the absence of belief. It is only then you understand there is nothing of the sort.

So what if it is? How dare you live any differently?

You are not the person in the future nor past. This is it. And look! You’ve just died once again. Here you are, born anew, another minute, another day.

How silly. There is nothing out there but the apogee of becoming and the cold polar void, there is nothing out there for you but here.

Does knowing that make existence any less noble? Then you are nothing but a skeleton of a man-to-be anchored to the basement floor.

Precisely. And yet... and yet. You stand here. Why is that?

Now hold on! This can't be it.

What are you?

& at the edge of the world, what then?

me?

I don’t know. Softly, I’d think. Is that so awful of me?

Fiercely?

What use is fierceness to me in the afterlife?

You mean this is it?

So what if I did?

Then who else holds the grain of truth, if not me in this very moment?

And you’re telling me to live fiercely.

Then here is the anatomy of a dream, laid in stone.

Well, when you put it like that, what else is there to do but live?